Being a Potter
by Septembyrr
Summary: So, what is it like having the famous wizarding hero, Harry Potter, as a father? Told from his daughter, Lily's, perspective. ONE-SHOT.


My friends were always in awe of my father. Whenever I invite them over, they would get a little fidgety and smooth the creases in their clothes and run their fingers through their hair, although neither of it needs anymore prepping up. Things would also get a little uncomfortable and awkward whenever dad walks in and introduces himself, or to make his presence know, just so my friends and I would behave ourselves.

Not like he needs any introduction, not like he needs to make his presence felt. He's Harry freaking Potter, as if we could not already feel his sense of authority everywhere.

I never understood why people stood gawking at him when I was little, or why people just would not stop staring because I know for a fact it's rude. Mum taught me so, so why were they all acting so rudely? I always got a wee bit scared at first, but as I grew older in age and finally comprehended what was going on, all the googly-eyed business really got on my nerves and became downright irritating. I suggested to dad once that if it bothers him (and I know for a fact it does) why not just hex them to teach them a lesson, but he just laughed, ruffled my auburn hair and said they hadn't done anything wrong to deserve something too tragically funny.

Dad always stood out as a hero, a figure of strength and courage in the wizarding world. How many times have I seen his smiling face on autobiographies stacked neatly in the book racks of Flourish and Blotts? How many times have I heard his name being uttered everywhere I go? Again, I thought my dad had so many friends when countless of strangers would walk up to him and shake his hand rather vigorously, thanking him again and again for preventing the world from collapsing, for saving numerous of lives, from defeating Voldermort. Soon enough I come to realize that they may know my dad, but he does not have an inkling of recognition to any of them. But he was always gracious, always kind, entertaining them with more handshakes and smiles to go around for a lifetime. Sometimes I could see that he got a little tired of all the attention, he always said it was undeserved, and his tolerance level for it was waning. However, mum was always there for him too, which made things a whole lot better.

Not everything about my dad was great though, everything isn't as wonderful as it is portrayed to be. I hated it when he got a little over protective of me, like I am not capable of fending for myself at the age of seventeen, when the trace has finally left me and I could cast spells whenever the urge or the need arises. He followed me like a hawk, making sure that I don't blow up everything that stood in my way. Even when I was learning how to peel potatoes without the aid of a knife, he was there, irregardless of whether mum stood nearby or not. Needless to say I did blow up, but not due to a wrongly placed spell, but at my father. We had a yelling match that could've lasted for ages if mum hadn't interfered and calmed the situation down.

Sometimes, things would go a little out of hand when everyone just wants to know every single thing about him. Friends, whom I thought were true friends, turned out to be attention seekers just wanting to get the right connection. However, every cloud does have its silver lining for I did eventually find people with similar mindsets and outlooks as me, who found it rather interesting that I was the daughter of the great Chosen One, but rather stick around because of who I am, and not who my father is. It was tough, to say the least, trying to discern those who were genuinely sincere, but I figured it all out in the end, although even that took quite a while. Needless to say, mum and dad supported me through it all. Dad went a little weird though, because he blamed himself for being famous hence my issues with friendships, which I thought was very silly of him to think that way. Dad always took the blame for things, even if it's totally unrelated to him. Mum said that was his usual habit, but I still would not point my finger at him for this. Sure, I would sometimes argue with him for my lack of freedom, or some other things like owning my very own broomstick or getting a new wand, but for the friendships I had lost? Never.

People were also continually seeking him out for guidance and advice, looking up to him as a leader, which made me feel immensely proud because everyone placed him in such high esteem. But it also came to the point where you can see all the attention focused on him literally suffocating, encumbering him into an enclosed space. I know he was never one to willingly draw the limelight upon himself, and with the spotlight and society's scrutiny on him throughout his whole life it still amazes me that he has not exploded, yet.

It was a little disconcerting too, having everyone around me gush about just how courageous and wonderfully magnificent my dad is. I know he is, but just not in the way normal people pictured him to be. In my eyes he would always be the most resilient and fearless man because of his constant support and affection that he unyieldingly showers upon his family, because of that bold streak in him silently and repeatedly spurring him on to always choose right over wrong, because of him teaching us his principles in life, inculcating the lessons he had learned throughout the ages, because of his undying love and adoration for everyone he's ever cared for, because of his undiminished sense of loyalty and gratefulness to those interconnected in his life. Those were the reasons to why I saw him as the hero of my life, not just solely because he valiantly defeated the Dark Lord with a mere spell. No, not even close.

It was because he was my father, and just by showing his encouragement to me, to my mum and my brothers, that's what struck a chord in me. To me, he would always be the dad that makes it an effort to come back home at 5 o' clock sharp just in time for the family dinner, he's the dad that kissed my bruises before healing it with a flick of his wand, he's the dad that tucks me into bed at night with mum when I was a little tyke, and read out to me bedtime stories, even muggle ones. He's the man that would spontaneously give my mum hugs and kisses at random intervals which would always make her giggle like a school girl every single time, although she never wanted to admit that fact out loud. He's the one who Grampa Weasley goes to about muggle shenanigans, and one of the first to always suggest an impromptu family gathering at our place, inviting the whole clan over. He's the dad that took me on my first ride on the broomstick and showed me the world from up above, a vision of rolling hills and quaint villages that I would always cherish and never forget. He's the man that was ever so gentle and so kind to our house elves, even if the wizarding world placed them as inferior. He's the dad that pulled goofy faces at me when I was little and sulking, just to make me giggle in spite of my efforts to put on a pout. He's the dad that got the whole family into a pillow fight once and we had to clean up the mess of feathers later, but it was so worth it, just to revel in the happiness of my family. He's the dad that puts up with all my mood swings and makes me hot chocolate when I felt like bashing the face of my annoying brothers, and also the one who reprimanded me later on for drawing on James' face while he was fast asleep and snoring with irremovable ink that lasted for days, even weeks.

He's done so many great things that I could possibly imagine, but the greatest of all is being the most remarkable father to me and my brothers. He's not a perfect man, heck he's far from what we would deem as flawless, and sometimes his fiery temper and tendency of repeatedly jumping to conclusion drives me up the wall. But he's my father, and I would not want any other even if my dad has bad body odor or ashamedly disgusting table habits (which he definitely does not possess, I assure you). I'm thankful for being in the Potter family, because I know for a fact that such an intimately linked family such as the one I am born into is really difficult to find nowadays, and I'm even more fortunate to be spending the rest of my life with my extended Weasley brood, because of my affection for them, and their irrevocable love for us as well.

Nothing matters more to me than the family I've been blessed with, and even if things get a little on the rough side, or when my brothers become increasingly bothersome just to annoy the living daylights out of me, or when mum and dad gets agitating by teasing me about raging hormones or an eligible so-and-so, or when they both fire up and start a quarreling match till no end, or when a cold war is on between me and James and currently not on talking terms, or when my friends would cower in awe of my dad or when the attention becomes a bit too unbearable for us, I'll always be thankful for them, because after all, these are the people that would stick with me through everything, even in the rough patches when the world gets a little crazy, they'll be there to back me up, and through it all we'll survive as a unit, as a family.

And for that, I'll never trade this lifetime experience of growing up in the Potter household for the world, because ultimately, _they_ are my world.


End file.
